Brill
by Stridette
Summary: Kel'Thuzad's plan is about to come to fruition, but the people of Brill are blissfully unaware. Not for long. A story of the coming of the Third War. Rated for quite a lot of violence and other horrible things.
1. Chapter 1

"Mommy! Look!"

Sheryn gave a long-suffering sigh and turned around. "What is it, Tamla?"

"Tom's back!" The little girl had balanced herself precariously atop a wooden chair and was jabbing the dusty window with a chubby finger.

With a smile that echoed some of her daughter's excitement, Sheryn told Tamla she could go out and see the man. Tamla squealed and bounded out the open door, her arms outstretched as if already preparing herself for the hug that was inevitable, whether Thomas wanted it or not.

Turning back to her washing, Sheryn gave a small chuckle. Tamla might technically be fatherless, but in some way or another, Brill's unofficial travelling merchant had also become the little girl's unofficial father figure. He wasn't a bad one, either, if a little young; her only real concern was that he might instil his natural wanderlust into her daughter. But then, if Tamla could take care of herself as well as Thomas when she grew up, there wasn't too much to worry about.

The final clean bowl was added to the pile with a soft chink. Sheryn took off her apron, wiping her soapy hands on it as she did so, before putting it down on the table and walking out the door into the cool afternoon.

Indeed, Thomas had arrived back in Brill, and as always it was to quite the reception. He was leaning against the front edge of his wagon, talking earnestly with Abigail Shiel, the local supplier of general goods (although she did almost none of the actual supplying - everyone knew that Thomas brought everything worth selling into town, but they all let her believe she was providing a commendable service nonetheless). The four children of the village sat around, draped over him in various uncomfortable-looking positions, waiting eagerly for a break in the adult conversation. Tamla was propped against his shoulder, steadying herself by holding a clump of the man's blond hair in her fist. Sheryn winced sympathetically. He was such a patient man.

"Thomas Arlento," she said loudly when Abigail stepped away, hoping to get in before the children got too loud with their shouts for attention. The man turned and grinned widely.

"Sherry! How do you like my delivery?" He gestured grandly to the contents of the wagon.

Tamla gave Thomas a little pinch on the cheek, telling him off for calling her mother that name she hated so much, but for once Sheryn wasn't paying enough attention to care. She couldn't believe she hadn't noticed it before. Grain! And a lot of it! She was thrilled. The local crops had failed this season, and the citizens of Brill had begun to feel the pressure. If crops everywhere had failed, they were going to be in for a long and hungry winter. What a stroke of luck that Andorhal, at least, had been able to provide.

"Oh, Tom! It's wonderful! You're a hero!" she told him happily, beaming at the young man. He merely smiled his cocky smile in return before turning to look at a little boy that had been whispering in his ear, an expression of exaggerated surprise on his face.

A small crowd was beginning to form around the back of the wagon, and Sheryn moved to join them. Jamie Nore was already filling sacks with the grain, causing dust to fly up in clouds. She coughed a little, but continued with the sort of fervour that only the administrator's assistant could possibly know how to muster. The energetic young Abe Winters dragged his pretty new wife up the side of the wagon and onto the top of the pile of grain beside him. Oliver Dwor picked a dead crow off the grain between his thumb and forefinger, grimacing while Rand Rhobart stood by, cackling at the sight of his friend's disgust. Sheryn could hear the laughter of children coming from the other side of the wagon.

They were saved.

-----

Thomas may have brought grain and saved Brill, but in Tamla's mind there was only one absolutely _best_ thing about the merchant's regular visits to town: the story fire.

Music drifted through the chilly night air as Sheryn walked across the dirt road that ran north-south through the town, and she cheerfully hummed along with the tune. In her arms she held her contribution to tonight's feast; the smells of newly baked bread and fresh cut fruit wafted enticingly through the cloth she had draped over the platter. She was in a very good mood. Feasts were a rare thing in Brill, since the local produce tended to focus more on less sustaining foods such as meats and fruits and cheeses. The prospect of good food and good stories around a warm fire was most welcoming. Tamla was going to be thrilled tonight.

Sheryn rounded the corner behind the town hall and found herself suddenly bathed in light. It looked like every one of the townsfolk had gathered around the bonfire. She saw that a small circle of adolescents had congregated a short way off, and she chuckled to herself. They wouldn't be going too far tonight. Not when Thomas was here to spin his tales.

As she approached the fire, the music grew louder. Mr. and Mrs. Winters were the source; he was distractedly shaking a can full of rice, setting a lazy beat for his young wife, who was playing the fiddle with much more purpose and feeling. Sheryn joined the circle, sitting herself between Rand and Coleman, and placed her plate of bread and fruit by the fire. The wind shifted regularly, blowing smoke mingled with the scents of cold meat and cheese every which way.

For hours they chatted and sung, feasting on breads and pastries enveloping all sorts of delicious fillings. By the time the plates and cups grew empty, they had all eaten and drunk more than their fill. Exhaustion was creeping up on them visibly, and the fire was burning low. The children sat around Thomas' feet - it seemed like they would grow on to him permanently soon - and attempted to throw scraps into the man's open mouth, though they missed so often (to such uproarious laughter) that Sheryn wasn't certain they were trying to hit their target at all.

Evidently deciding that he would lose an eye if this weren't stopped soon, he sat up and said something to the children. They all shuffled back a few inches as he stood and addressed the now quietly drowsy townsfolk.

"There was once a gracious elf-lord," he began in a clear voice, without preamble, "who ruled the great kingdom of Quel'thalas. He was a mighty king who led his people with honour against the vicious and terrible trolls that lived in the forests, feeding on maggots and dirt and slaughtering foolhardy folk who dared wander past the towering silver city gates.

"He was indeed a great king, but he was also proud. And so, when the time came for him to choose a queen to stand and rule by his side, he held an event. All the maidens in the land were to gather just inside the city gates, near the magical fountain from which all elves drew their arcane powers. He would try them all as he saw fit. Those who failed would be banished to the forest, doomed to become supper for the hideous and very hungry trolls. The one who succeeded would be his queen.

"Now, the fairest maiden in the land was named Imaen, which in the ancient elvish language means 'grace'. Her hair was long and spun of gold and her skin was pure like cream. She knew that she was going to succeed in this trial, but she was not glad - she could see the elf-lord for his pride, while her friends only saw him for his power. Knowing that to flee would mean certain death from the trolls beyond the gates, she decided to hide.

"In the dead of night, on the eve of the event, Imaen went down to the fountain by the gates. She took her father's sword, cut off her hair, and let the locks of spun gold fall into the enchanted water. She then used the arcane magic of her people to disguise herself as a man."

Thomas paused here, swaying a little on his feet. Sheryn frowned; it appeared he had drunk a little too much wine. It was not a problem, truly - the children were all asleep on the ground - but it was terribly unlike him.

"He... the elf-lord woke up... The next day was..."

And with that, Thomas collapsed.

Mrs. Winters gave a small yelp, covering her mouth in delicate astonishment, and there were a few gasps and murmurs as a several townsfolk rushed over to aid the merchant. Sheryn closed the distance quickly before lifting him up from beneath his arms. Jamie determinedly took the ankles and helped to carry him back to Sheryn's house where a spare bed lay, readily made. This was, after all, where Thomas usually stayed when he was passing through.

With a few hurried mutterings about keeping the townsfolk calm and happy, the assistant administrator fled the house. Ignoring her, Sheryn leaned over and tucked in the young merchant. Almost out of habit, she brought her hand up to feel his forehead. She was alarmed to find that his skin was cold and clammy. Frowning, she stared at him. Perhaps he was ill, rather than drunk.

A stifled yawn from the door caught her attention. "Right," she said firmly, straightening as she spoke, "time for bed, missy."

Tamla made a small whine of protest, but was cut off by another monstrous yawn. Sheryn guided her daughter into bed, tucked her in, gave her a kiss on the forehead and doused the lamp. In darkness, she undressed and found her own bed. Despite the nagging worry in the back of her mind for Thomas, she soon succumbed to her exhaustion and slept.


	2. Chapter 2

Sheryn awoke to the sound of crying.

Her eyes flew open as she sat up straight in her bed, alarmed. She gazed wildly into the darkness. Tamla? No. No, the voice was male. Irrational fear suddenly gripped her as images of her late husband flashed through her mind.

The sobbing died away, buried beneath a wave of soft groans. At that moment, Sheryn realised what she was hearing. Feeling foolish, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. She quickly dressed and lit her bedside lamp.

Taking the lamp, she crept over to where Thomas lay. A worried frown crossed her face. The dim yellow light was making his handsome face look sickly and pallid. He was sweating profusely, leaving a halo of dampness on his pillow. She placed a hand gingerly on his forehead and recoiled in shock. His skin was as cold as icy water and had a strange texture to it. She thought perhaps he had a rash, somehow invisible in this light.

A knock on the door drew her attention away from him. Wondering who could be calling at this late hour, she padded over to the door and unlatched it, allowing it to open a fraction. She held the lamp up and peered into the gloom.

"Who is it?"

There was a short silence, then a voice. "Um, it's me," said the timid voice of the young Mrs. Winters.

Sheryn paused. For Mrs. Winters to come visiting at this time of the evening, something had to be very wrong. On the other hand, she strongly suspected that Thomas needed undisturbed rest right now.

"What's the matter?" she asked eventually, as gently as she was able.

"It's... is Mister Arlento all right?"

Sheryn sighed. She opened the door further, slipped outside and closed it behind her. "He's not well," she said, holding up the lamp to peer at Mrs. Winters' terrified face. "Why?"

"I... Abe's sick," the young lady whispered in a half-sob. Sheryn felt sorry for her. This must be hard for a new wife to have to handle.

"All right," she said firmly. "Let's get the nurse."

Mrs. Winters nodded and visibly relaxed. Sheryn smiled thinly as she led the way down the road. If this girl was ever going to have children, she would have to learn decisiveness quickly. Somehow, Sheryn knew that she would be the teacher. Motherly instincts just weren't something that ever faded.

She lowered her lamp as they stepped beneath the halo of light outside the inn. Nurse Neela's house was nestled right next door; close enough to share the constant illumination. Sheryn rapped sharply on the door before turning to her companion.

"Does he have a fever?" she asked, loudly enough to be heard from inside the house. They didn't need her rolling over and going back to sleep tonight.

Mrs. Winters thought about this, then shook her head. "No," she said softly. "He was cold. And he's in pain. And his skin was... dying." Her voice shook.

"Dying?" Sheryn hadn't been able to examine Thomas' skin properly, but as absurd as the description sounded, it _did_ seem to fit the strange pocked texture she'd felt.

Mrs. Winters nodded then, after looking like she was trying to speak for a moment, began to sob. Sheryn didn't blame her. Feeling frustrated, she turned and thumped heavily on the door. No answer came. There were no sounds of movement from within. Desperately, Sheryn jiggled the door, willing it to open. It was, unsurprisingly, locked. With a heavy sigh, she turned back to Mrs. Winters. The girl was now shaking visibly.

"Let's try the hall," Sheryn said, gently taking her by the shoulder.

The lights inside the town hall were lit. The two women entered through the door, which had been left slightly ajar. It creaked loudly. A hush suddenly fell; Sheryn hadn't even realised that there had been voices coming from within. After a moment, they started again in hushed murmurs. Uneasily, she tried in vain to determine whose voices she was hearing. She glanced over her shoulder. Mrs. Winters looked terrified. With a sudden surge of desire to protect the girl, Sheryn pressed forward through the darkened entrance hall.

As they neared the dimly lit door on the far side of the room, the voices became clearer.

"It's really... not like anything I've... seen before."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I-"

"You _can_ do something, right?"

"I... don't know."

Despite recognising the voices, Sheryn found herself unable to relax. Was someone else ill? She beckoned Mrs. Winters to follow as she entered the brightly lit main hall. Their footsteps rang loudly, the sound causing both speakers to turn.

"Sheryn? What's the matter?" asked Jamie Nore, a careful expression of concern on her face.

She studied her, taking in the way her eyes darted nervously around the room, and frowned. "I might ask you the same question," she said.

"Ah, yes. Well. The Magistrate-"

"How is Thomas faring?" Neela cut in. Sheryn noticed that her expression was also far from normal. She looked almost dazed.

"Not well," she said grimly, before adding, "and it looks as if Abe Winters may be suffering the same illness."

Jamie's face fell. It was clear that the news was unwelcome, however expected it may have been.

"Well..." Neela trailed off, frowning. She slowly brought her hand to her head like she was suffering a headache. As if looking to steady herself, she flung out with her other hand. This time, Sheryn was prepared. She grasped her hand and helped Jamie to ease her to the floor.

Jamie looked pained. "First Mister Sevren, now the nurse," she groaned. Sheryn simply stared at the doctor, who was now lying down, her face ashen. Her thoughts moved with frustrating sluggishness. "Do you think it's contagious?"

She sharply glanced up at Jamie. Suddenly, something in her mind clicked. "We have to assume so. Get the infected people into confinement. Here will do." As the administrator nodded, she turned to Mrs. Winters. "Help him fetch Mister Sevren and Abe, then come help me get Thomas." She turned and strode away, cursing herself under her breath. She was out the door before the others could say another word.

In her rising panic, she could feel her head begin to spin. She'd _known_ it was a disease. Of _course_ it was. And when she'd learnt Abe had contracted the same illness... she should have known it was contagious. How, then, had she failed to get Tamla out of there as soon as humanly possible? Berating herself, she ran through the darkness, stumbling. Without breaking her stride she pushed open the door to her house. It hit the wall behind her with a thud. She came to a stop then, breathing heavily and staring wildly into the dark.

Her head felt light. She ignored it. She would feel better when she caught her breath.

It was quiet.

Forcing herself to be calm, she took a lamp from a hook above the oven and lit it. The light spilled over the house. Her gaze travelled across the room and fell on Tamla's bed. Her daughter seemed to be sleeping soundly enough. The small body rose and fell with slow, steady breaths.

Relieved, Sheryn crossed the room. She was about to reach Tamla's bed when she realised what was amiss. Thomas wasn't making a sound. She froze and then, making a decision, turned. She stood over Thomas' bed, peering down. He had pulled his cover up over his chin. Sheryn felt like crying; she didn't know whether it was a good sign or a bad one, but it was irrelevant because he was suffering and she couldn't do a thing. She had no idea what to do.

With a start, she realised he was awake and staring at here. She didn't like the way the light made his eyes look so dark and blank.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice a low whisper. He gave no response. Instead, he continued to gaze at her unblinkingly. She felt a chill.

Hesitantly, she reached out to once more touch his forehead. She gasped and drew her hand back with a stifled scream. "Thomas! You're..." She trembled, horrified. The texture of his skin... she had no words to describe it. She felt ill.

"I..." She choked back a sob. "I'm... Tamla... uh. I'll be back soon." Feeling thoroughly shaken, she darted back to Tamla's bed. She didn't want to see his face again. Not like this. Not with those horrible eyes.

Oh, by the Light. What was she going to _do_?

Wordlessly, she shook Tamla awake. The girl groaned sleepily. "Wha..?" She blinked blearily up at Sheryn, who had a finger to her mouth in an urgent silencing gesture. Quietly, she stood and followed her mother out of the house.

Sheryn closed the door behind them. She could see her hands trembling as she fumbled with the lock, and bit her lip anxiously. Why was she so shaken by this? She just didn't know what was wrong with him. It was so unlike anything she'd seen before.

"Mommy?"

With a sigh, she turned and held out her free hand, holding up the lamp with the other. Tamla took it calmly.

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know yet, sweetie. We need to get you somewhere safe."

Tamla's chubby face twisted into a confused frown. "Why isn't it safe at home?"

"Tom is sick and he might make you sick, too."

"Why would he do that?"

"He wouldn't mean to, honey." She squatted down, brushing the hair from Tamla's sleepy eyes. "Something nasty is hurting him and if we don't keep you away, it might hurt you. Okay?"

Tamla nodded. "Will Tom be okay?"

"I'm not sure," Sheryn admitted. She didn't believe in lying to her daughter. "But don't be sad, okay? He wouldn't want you to be sad." She smiled gently and stood. "Now, let's see. Would you like to stay at Mr. Rhobart's place tonight?"

Tamla squealed in sudden delight. Sheryn smiled again - this time genuinely - and led her daughter by the hand towards the nearby lake, where Rand's house was situated.

As they crossed the road, Sheryn could feel herself settling down. The feel of that tiny hand clasped in hers, and the sound of the rapid shuffling beside her as her little girl tried to keep up was calming. Her head still felt light, and she was a little dizzy, but that was unimportant. Tamla was all right, so everything would be fine.

A high-pitched scream cut through the night.

Gripping Tamla's hand tightly, Sheryn stopped and turned. The sound had come from down the road.

"Mommy? What was that?" Tamla's voice was shaking.

"I... don't know," she replied, but she had a suspicion. If Abe was looking anything like Thomas, then delicate young Mrs. Winters wouldn't be able to handle it. She was briefly torn, but came to a decision quickly. "Tamla, wait on those steps there, please," she said, indicating the stairs leading up to the inn's doorway. The little girl ran over immediately, recognising the firm tone in her mother's voice.

Without waiting to watch her daughter take a seat, Sheryn turned and strode quickly up the road. That poor woman, Light bless her...

The door to the Winters' house flew open and the slender figure of Mrs. Winters stumbled out. Sheryn broke into a run. The memory of Thomas' blank eyes staring at her burned in her mind. That poor, poor woman...

She drew to a sudden halt as she saw a second figure stagger out the door. Though it was only a silhouette in the dim moonlight, she recognised the shape. Stunned, she stared as Abe Winters lurched towards his wife, steadying himself against the doorframe. He was walking around? He was alert? A surge of hope ran through her. Thomas was going to be all right!

The hope died quickly as she watched Mrs. Winters, who was now crawling in the dirt in front of the house, weeping loudly. Oh, by the Light. He was still ill and walking? The very idea of seeing Thomas moving around in his current state was, frankly, terrifying. It would be like... like the walking dead.

She took another step forward, then stopped again as Mrs. Winters turned over in the dirt, leaning back on her hands and staring up at her husband. Violent sobs racked her body. There was a long pause, like time itself had frozen. And then suddenly, Abe toppled forward, gripping tightly on to his young wife's shoulders to break his fall. She screamed.

He steadied himself and stood, dragging her up with him. She struggled limply against his grasp, crying out wordlessly. And then, to Sheryn's utter horror, he forcefully pulled her arms sideways. Mrs. Winters threw her head back as she wailed, and then...

Sheryn screamed as Abe tore the arms from his helpless young wife's body. Aghast, she stared, unable to turn away. He threw the body to the ground. Mrs. Winters, still alive and now crying in dwindling sobs, tried to back up, scrambling wildly in the dirt with just her legs, but to no avail. Abe lurched forward again and brought his foot down heavily on her throat. With horrible suddenness, silence fell.

The spell broke. Sheryn turned and fled.

What... what in the name of the Light had she just seen? She couldn't have... she couldn't believe it. No. It couldn't be true.

No.

In a daze, she ran down the road towards the inn. All she could think was that Tamla wasn't safe. She had to get her to a secure place, as soon as she could...

She stumbled to a halt and froze.

Oh, Light. No.

"Tamla?"

There was no response. She stared wildly in the darkness around her, searching for some sign of her daughter. There was nothing.

She was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

"Tamla!"

Sheryn's rising panic gave her voice a shrill quality that, under any other circumstances, would have embarrassed her. Right now, though, her mind was fixated on one horrific truth: she'd just witnessed a gruesome murder and now her daughter was nowhere to be found.

She was such a sweet little girl. She'd trust Abe with her life...

Fighting the tears that threatened to blind her, Sheryn thought as fast as she was able. Assuming nobody had taken her - who would do that other than Abe, whom she knew to be up the road? - there were really only two places Tamla would have gone. She'd either have gone ahead to Rand's house, or turned back home for some reason-

-_kill. I am the-_

-the sight of Thomas' dead eyes flashed through her mind. Then, of its own will, her imagination took that frightening face and transferred it to the staggering figure of Abe Winters.

Light, _no_.

She set across the road at a run. She held up her lamp, cursing her long skirts as she tripped and stumbled through the darkness. The light in her hand was dying; its oil must have almost run out.

Without slowing, she barrelled through the door, shouting wordlessly as she prepared to fight for her daughter's life.

She wasn't prepared for the darkness and quiet that greeted her.

She stopped and looked around. Her rapid breaths cut sharply into the heavy silence. The minimal light from her lamp showed very little, instead seeming to accentuate the shadows. Every shadow was an enemy that might be hiding a terrifying secret.

"Tamla?" Her voice was a wavering whisper. There came no reply. She approached her daughter's bed, but could see no sign of her.

Slowly, warily, she crept over to Thomas' bed. Her breath caught. He was gone.

She turned and headed for the door at a run. Abruptly, she stopped. There was an indiscernible shape at the door. Desperately, she waved her lantern around, hoping to catch some glimpse of a face in the dying light. "Who's there?"

"Sherry," rasped the figure, staggering through the door.

Sheryn's eyes widened in fear as she backed away from Thomas. "What-"

"_Sherry_," he said again, his voice almost urgent. His eyes, like dark holes, stared up at her intently. He outstretched a hand, grasping at the air in front of her with rotten fingers.

"Oh, Light," she whispered. Finally, she understood what she was seeing. "Thomas-"

She was cut off by a sudden sound. Thomas threw his head back and clawed at his throat violently, tearing flesh off in large chunks but drawing no blood. She then realised the sound was coming from him: a harsh wail that simultaneously terrified her and made her want to cry for him.

The sound suddenly stopped. Thomas steadied himself. Sheryn froze as stillness descended. He stared at her levelly. She warily stared back, convinced that the slightest movement would set him off. The silence lingered.

Slowly, cautiously, Sheryn shuffled a little to the side, in the hopes of bringing herself closer to the door. He followed her with his eyes, unnerving her. She stopped.

With a keening snarl, he leapt at her.

Sheryn screamed as he landed atop her, toppling her to the ground. Her head hit something hard as she fell, dazing her. She didn't notice the tears that began to well in her eyes.

Thomas adjusted himself quickly, effectively pinning her to the ground. In the brighter light, she could see his disturbingly calm expression. The deadness in his sunken eyes chilled her.

Wait... brighter light?

With surprising rationality, she turned her head to the side and saw the reason why. Her lantern had been knocked from her hand in her fall. The small amount of oil left had been enough to-

Thomas dug his teeth into her cheek. She screamed.

Madly, she struggled against his weight atop her. One arm came free. She flailed out blindly. As the flesh was torn from her face, her forearm connected with something. Somewhere, past the agony clouding her mind, she felt a leg freed. She gave a violent lurch and scrambled to a stand. She staggered heavily against the wall, overcome with dizziness, but her legs kept carrying her. She coughed as she fled the house, finding it hard to breathe. Smoke...

_-King. You are mine. I-_

Disoriented, she stumbled down the road and toward the bridge. The clothes on her left side were clinging to her. She couldn't remember how they'd gotten wet. She pressed a hand to her skirts and looked at the palm dazedly. It was dark...

Rand. She had to get to Rand's house. She veered to the right.

She'd never hurt so much. The pain - she couldn't focus. As she made her way to the lake, she saw a child lope by. What were they doing out at this hour? She wondered. And then she saw the house.

It was a mess.

Rand's house was no more than a shack at the best of times, but something bad had happened here. A window was smashed and the door was broken off its hinges.

"Tamla," Sheryn croaked as she staggered inside. Her face hurt so much when she moved her jaw. "Tamla."

As she faced the absolute silence, she realised that her body was shaking violently. Her knees were buckling, her hands shaking with the strain of holding herself together. She reached out into the darkness, fumbling as she searched for something with which to defend herself. Her hand closed weakly around a knife. She drew it in, close to her chest as if it were something precious, and fervently prayed this was all some kind of exceedingly vivid nightmare.

Then she saw the bodies, and reality hit home with horrific force.

They lay in the corner, hidden behind an overturned table. They looked heart achingly peaceful, curled up in a tight protective embrace: Rand Rhobart and, in his arms, the tiny bundle that was Tamla. Rand's eyes were open, staring blankly into infinity, while Tamla's were gently closed. Sheryn stared in disbelief for a long while before she knelt down.

She couldn't believe how serene her daughter looked. Gently, she reached down and ran her fingers through her hair, brushing it out of her eyes. And then they were open, looking at her. Sheryn gave a start, falling back on her heels. Tamla scrambled up, wide-eyed, ignoring Rand's dead arm as it fell from her body. She screamed.

"It's okay, honey," Sheryn whispered, and leaned forward to take her daughter into her arms. "I'm here."

To her bewilderment, Tamla struggled free. "No!" she wailed almost incoherently. "No!"

"What... what is it?"

Wordlessly, the girl sobbed and pointed at Sheryn's face. Frowning, Sheryn reached up. She could feel an unusual wetness. Taking her hand away from her cheek, she glanced at it. It was drenched in blood. She could not work out why.

She returned her gaze to her daughter and smiled as well as she was able. "Never mind that. Come on, sweetie. Let's get out of here." She offered her dry hand. She had no clue where they could go, but staying here was not an option.

Tamla shook her head. Her body was still wracking with muffled sobs as she glanced mutely at Rand's body. A second quick study of the body sent a chill down Sheryn's spine. She recognised those dead eyes.

"Honey, we really have to go. _Now_." There was no longer anything she could do to keep the fear from her voice.

Once again, Tamla shook her head. "Missus Rhobart will hurt him." Suddenly, Sheryn understood what had happened here. The idea of Shelene Rhobart... no. She would not think about it. She shook her head forcefully. Somewhere in the back of her mind, something cried out against the pain, but she scarcely noticed it.

"Shelene will hurt us all if we stay," she said, no longer caring to soften her words. "_Please_, Tamla. Come _on_."

With that final desperate plea, Tamla conceded defeat and let herself be wrenched to her feet. Her body felt limp like a ragdoll, but Sheryn steeled herself. Time to worry about fear later. Safety was the most important matter at hand.

As she ran toward the bridge, fairly dragging her daughter along behind her, a strange feeling began to creep into her consciousness. Through the fog of muted agony and terror and desperate anger came a bizarre sense of elation. Associating it with the hope that they might soon be free of this horror, she permitted herself a wide, stiff grin. She clutched Tamla's hand ever tighter until the girl yelped, and began running faster, suddenly gripped by a strange kind of numb energy.

They would be okay. Everything would be all right.

_- I am the Lich King._


End file.
